The Bath Conspiracy

by Jeanne M. Dams

  I put the notebook down. ‘Very good indeed! I assume Rob will supply a likely address and the name of some innocent policeman.’

  ‘Yes, and vet the whole idea. But do you think it will work?’

  ‘Where do you plan to trail your bait?’

  ‘Regional newspapers and TV. The national dailies wouldn’t take it, and in any case, it would get lost amidst all the other news. The techy people will be able to put this up on Facebook and a few other local news sites – and I’m sure our villain will see the news piece somehow. It’s amazing how news travels via social media these days … My biggest hope, though, is television news. It’s odd enough to get a bit of play.’

  ‘Hmmm. And you know somebody at ITV, don’t you?’

  ‘I do. Saved his bacon once. A very long time ago, but he hasn’t forgotten. He’ll do what he can. You never answered my question, though. Will it work? Will it catch our wily fish?’

  ‘I think you might need to be a little more specific about the objects. Make up something, or a couple of somethings, that might appeal.’

  ‘The trouble is, since we haven’t been able to find a common denominator, we don’t know what might appeal.’

  ‘No, but we have some ideas. Everything that was stolen, everything in our cache anyway, had to do with local history in some way. So let’s see.’ I doodled on the notebook while I thought. ‘Let’s say the Roman Baths put out a glossy booklet about the most recent renovations in … when was it?’

  ‘The mid-nineties, I believe.’

  ‘Okay, good. That’s long enough back that the booklet might well be dusty and dogeared. So that’s one. And then there was the half-finished novel by Jane Austen that turned up in – say – 2002. That would have generated newspaper articles by the dozen. So one of those could turn up, too.’

  ‘Dorothy, there has been no such discovery.’

  ‘I know that, and you know that, but does our crook know that? How many people would know, one way or the other, unless they’re fanatic readers of Austen and/or live in Bath? And oh, we could hint that it’s just slightly salacious. That would make the TV people happy!’ I scribbled for a moment and handed the notebook back to Alan. ‘Add this to the cop’s quote, and see what you think.

  I had written: ‘They include such things as a booklet describing discoveries at the Roman Baths of twenty years ago and more, an old newspaper clipping about the rather racy fragment purporting to be by Jane Austen, and other objects of similar vintage.’

  ‘Hmm. Makes it rather long, but more interesting, I agree. I’ll turn it over to Rob for his approval, and meanwhile I’ll call the chap at ITV.’

  Rob approved the scheme. The ‘news’ item, with a little editing, was sent to the newspapers that were most read locally, a few websites, and a couple of the national tabloids, the latter on the theory that a racy Jane Austen might appeal to them. Alan’s friend at ITV agreed to air it on one morning and one evening newscast, as a feature item, and asked for a picture or two. ‘We are talking about television, mate.’

  ‘Hmm. That’s a bit difficult, since the objects are all fictitious. Could your people take a picture of Jane Austen and give her a semblance of a leer?’

  ‘Have to check with legal, but doable, I think. Later, Alan!’

  After that things moved rapidly. Alan and Rob decided to use radio, as well, and sent several stations the notice. To none of them except ITV did they explain that the item was untrue. ‘It’s protection for them,’ Alan explained. ‘In case there are complaints, the media can honestly claim that they had no idea they were publishing fictitious information.’

  Rob set up surveillance in the street he had named, a short one with only a few houses. ‘If he comes at all, he’ll come openly,’ Rob predicted when we met for a conference, ‘with an offer to take the things off her hands for a few pounds. A pro would send someone out in advance to scope out which was the house, but this chap is a rank amateur. He won’t be surprised when the first landlady he approaches claims not to know what he’s talking about.’

  ‘And the first house will be the last, because your man will stop him,’ I said with satisfaction. ‘He does know what Simon looks like?’

  ‘He has Alan’s description,’ said Rob without cracking a smile, ‘for what that’s worth.’

  ‘You know perfectly well it’s accurate!’ I protested. ‘Alan’s a policeman … oh.’

  Rob couldn’t keep his face straight.

  ‘Darn it, I still haven’t learned to recognize when an Englishman is joking! Okay, so everything’s in place. Have the householders been told?’

  ‘No, because we want their reactions to be perfectly genuine. Some people can play a part; some can’t. We can’t take a chance.’

  So we went out in the rain to pick up some sandwiches for lunch, and then we waited. I am not a patient person; waiting is not my best thing. I tried to read the book I’d brought with me. When Alan saw me sit for ten minutes without turning a page, he escorted me down to the common room, where there was a small library of books guests had left behind. There were a couple of Agatha Christies I’d read before (I’ve read them all), but always enjoyed. Not this time.

  ‘All right,’ said Alan finally. ‘We’ll go mad just sitting here, and there’s nothing worthwhile on the tube. We need something to keep us occupied. Let’s go out and find some sort of game we can play together. Do you play chess?’

  ‘Badly. And I don’t find board games very interesting. And it’s pouring. Again. Still.’

  ‘Come. We’ll find something. But we’ll have to walk, I fear. No hope of finding a place for the car anywhere near the shops.’

  ‘No. I refuse. The time of my life when I enjoyed walking in the rain is long past. You can go and find us something if you want. I’m going to stay here and pout!’

  Alan thought about that. I knew he was considering his ‘whither thou goest’ order. I let him chew on it. It was his rule.

  ‘Very well. But mind you do stay here. Don’t go out. Keep the door locked and don’t open it to anyone. I’m taking my key, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  I didn’t even reply to that.

  It would have been a perfect afternoon to nap, but I was too keyed up; my eyelids wouldn’t stay closed. I went to my laptop and played a couple of games of FreeCell, losing both of them. I found a jigsaw puzzle site. None of the pictures appealed to me. Crosswords? Did two; both were so simple they irritated me. I was very close to throwing the poor innocent computer across the room when my phone rang. I seized it like a drowning woman reaching for a life buoy. ‘Rob? Any news?’

  ‘Yes, and I’m sorry to say it isn’t good. Your husband has been in an accident. If you’ll come down, Mrs Martin, I’ll meet you at the door in a few minutes and take you to the hospital.’

  He rang off. I ran to the wardrobe and was struggling into my raincoat when something set off a tiny siren in my brain. Wait a minute. Since when did Rob call me Mrs Martin? And was that really his voice? I had assumed … but …

  I looked at the number that had called. I looked up Rob’s number. They were not the same. With fingers that shook a little I punched in a call to Rob.

  ‘Hi, Dorothy.’

  ‘Rob, did you call me just now?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  I dropped down on the bed. ‘Someone did, telling me Alan had been in an accident. He – the caller – told me to come downstairs, and he’d take me to the hospital.’

  ‘Alan is out?’

  ‘Yes. He went to find us something to occupy ourselves while we wait.’

  ‘Don’t move. I’ll be there in five minutes.’

  TWENTY-FIVE

  I was scared, a residual fear about what had so nearly happened. Our villain had set a trap for me, and how very close I’d come to getting caught in it! But I’d learned a few things from all those detective stories I’d read through the years, and from a nasty experience in Canada not so long ago.

  And mixed with the fear,
and beginning to overcome it, was jubilation. We were going to win! The trap would be sprung, but by Rob and his buddies. They would be waiting for the crook, and we’d finally have him!

  It was a long five minutes, but at last I heard a car approach. Our window looked out on the back garden, so I couldn’t see the car unless I went partway down the stairs and peered out the front door. That was probably not a good idea, though. If I could see him he could see me, and could see that I wasn’t doing as he expected. He’d already know that, though. He’d expected me to be waiting at the door, trembling with fear, frantic to see Alan and learn the worst. Should I go and show myself, acting the part, or was that too taxing a role for me?

  I dithered just a moment too long. Another car was coming, one whose sound I would have known in any crowded street. Alan! Alan just a few minutes too soon! I heard the other car drive away, with a roar and a clash of gears.

  I ran down the stairs, straight into Alan’s arms.

  ‘It’s all right, love, you’re safe, hush, now. What’s this all about?’ He disentangled one arm to pick up the carrier bag he’d dropped when I tackled him.

  I was halfway between laughing and crying. ‘Oh, we might have caught him, only you scared him away, but I’m so glad to see you!’

  ‘I’d have been happier to see you ten minutes from now,’ said Rob, who had walked in unnoticed.

  Both men were dripping on the hall floor, and rain was blowing in through the open door. My housewifely instincts came to the fore. I closed the door. ‘Look, take off your coats and let’s go upstairs. Better leave your shoes down here, too.’

  They still squished as they walked up the stairs, leaving damp spots on the carpet. Once we got to the room, I insisted on providing dry socks for Rob as well as Alan.

  ‘All right, woman, stop fussing and tell me why you went into hysterics just now.’

  ‘That was not hysterics. I am never hysterical,’ I said, very much on my dignity. ‘I was so furious with you for coming home too soon, and so relieved and happy that you were back, that everything got mixed.’

  ‘Perhaps I’d better explain,’ said Rob.

  We arranged ourselves on the various places to sit, and Rob explained, clearly, succinctly. ‘My men and I,’ he concluded, ‘were stationed where we could see, but not be seen, ready to move in the moment the car appeared. Unfortunately you moved in first, parked just behind, and blew the operation.’

  Alan put his head in his hands, but then looked up. ‘Why did no one tell me? If either of you had called, I’d have stayed away.’

  ‘Would you?’ asked Rob. ‘With Dorothy in possible danger?’

  He gave me a long look and then shook his head. ‘No. I know, love, that I can count on you to behave with courage and good sense in a crisis, but no, I would have had to be here.’ He was sitting next to me on the bed; he reached over and took my hand.

  I smiled. ‘My knight in shining armour. Even though I didn’t actually need rescuing from the bad guy.’

  ‘Rob, did you get his licence number? Or get a glimpse of him.’

  ‘The licence, yes. But it’s a hired car, so that may be no help at all. As for a glimpse, yes, only a brief one before the car was out of sight.’

  ‘And? Was it Caine?’

  ‘It was no one any of us recognized from that one quick glance. But one thing was certain. The driver was a woman.’

  ‘So we’re back to square one,’ I said when we had recovered from that blow. ‘Not Simon Caine. And we don’t have one single other suspect. We’re done.’ I took a tiny sip of the bourbon Alan had poured for me; the rest were having Scotch. ‘Unless we have some luck with our lure.’

  ‘I’m losing hope,’ said Alan. ‘Maybe our crook is illiterate, or doesn’t watch the telly or listen to the radio or surf the Net.’

  ‘Or maybe she’s been too busy trying to abduct me,’ I said bitterly. ‘If only that had worked!’

  ‘“Of all sad words of tongue or pen …”’ Alan began a favourite quotation.

  ‘“The saddest are these: It might have been.” And the most unproductive. I’m sorry I brought it up. But the thing is, now she’s been scared off, do you really think she might bite on our news item?’

  ‘She wasn’t scared off by the police, remember,’ Rob pointed out. ‘I’ll stake my job that she didn’t know we were there. She may not even know who it was who showed up. And even if she did recognize Alan, it would just have put paid to that particular attempt. The lure could still pull her in.’ But he didn’t sound hopeful, and I agreed.

  ‘One thing at least we now know for certain,’ said Alan, putting down his half-full glass with finality, ‘is that the threat against Dorothy is real. I trust, madam, that you will now observe all due precautions?’

  ‘I intend to stick to you like glue, dear heart.’ I’ve never been so scared in my life, never wanted you more, I wanted to say, but Rob was there. I’ve picked up a little British reserve in my years here. ‘Rob, what do you suggest we do now?’

  He looked at his watch. ‘It’s close to dinner time, and you’ve missed your tea. I’m going to strongly suggest that you eat here in your room. I know Sylvie would be happy to fetch some take-away for you. I don’t mean to order you about, but I’d much rather you didn’t go out this evening. It’s been dark all day, and soon it will be “a dark and stormy night”. A night of the sort that crooks love. I would offer, but I must get back to the office.’

  ‘I take your point, but we can’t put your wife to all that trouble,’ said Alan. ‘I can easily—’

  ‘No!’ Rob and I said, in chorus. The only difference was that I fear I sounded panicky; Rob only authoritative. ‘That is really not a good idea, Alan,’ he continued. ‘Nor is ordering in a pizza or something of that sort. Oh, I saw what you were thinking! At home in Sherebury you might well know your delivery boy. Here you have no idea who might be knocking on your door.’

  ‘But aren’t you worried about Sylvie being out alone?’ I asked timidly.

  ‘Sylvie is not on someone’s hit list, to put it in your American phrase.’ He took his phone out of his pocket. ‘Indian, Chinese, or Italian?’

  Alan gave in. ‘Whichever might be done best. We like them all. And thank you.’ He pulled some money out of his wallet.

  Rob waved it away. ‘It’s your treat next time. You can take us to the Royal Crescent Hotel.’

  He talked to Sylvie, told us the code sequence she would use when knocking on the door, and then hurried off.

  Alan lifted my glass with a raised eyebrow. I shook my head. There was no liquid cure for my combination of frustration and anxiety. He shrugged, opened his laden carrier bag, and without consulting me opened the jigsaw puzzle box, dumped the 750 pieces out on the little table, and began methodically turning them right side up.

  We didn’t talk as we worked at our boring task. What was there to say? We were forced into inactivity, which suited neither of us. I tried and failed to find some good music on the radio, so we sat in silence except for the tiny sounds of bits of cardboard hitting the table and an occasional ‘Oh, here’s an edge piece.’

  My phone rang, startling both of us. ‘Dorothy, it’s Sylvie. Just so you know for sure it’s me, I’m Rob’s wife, and his real name is Cedric, poor man. I’m leaving for your digs and should be there in about ten minutes. Rob said to tell you to watch for me and then wait for my knock. See you soon.’

  ‘Wait! Sylvie, can you come in and join us? We’re going mad by ourselves.’

  There was a chuckle at the other end. ‘Rob said you’d ask. I bought ample food, and I’d love to join you. Ta-ta.’

  I spread a towel over the puzzle, what little of it we’d assembled, although I honestly didn’t care much about it. Something to do while we waited, that was all.

  Sylvie arrived without incident, thanks be. After my own experience, I’d been less certain than Rob that she’d be safe.

  ‘I brought Indian and Italian. The really good Chinese place has
closed, sadly.’

  ‘Oh, dear. I fear we’ll go hungry, then.’ I tried to say it with an English-style straight face, and Sylvie reacted with an equally straight face. ‘Good. If you can’t eat any of this lot, the more for Alan and me.’

  That broke the tension, and so did the lovely wine she’d brought. ‘I know lager is the thing for Indian,’ she said, ‘but I forgot about it until I was almost here, so we’ll have to make do.’ She’d bought some plastic wine glasses, and the first thing we did was drink a toast: ‘To the success of our mission.’

  Well, I had very little confidence in its success after the afternoon’s fiasco, but there was no point in saying so.

  We heaped our plates and dug in, washing down lamb korma and shrimp alfredo with red wine, and thumbing our noses at convention. The phone didn’t ring. We didn’t talk about the lure which, apparently, had failed. Sylvie had brought a lovely gâteau for dessert. It was layered with a caramel mousse and poached pears and looked sinfully delicious. Unfortunately, we were all too full to do more than look at it.

  ‘Never mind, I’ll leave it for you. That is, do you have a fridge?’

  ‘A shared one, in the common room. We can have some for a lovely unhealthy breakfast. You take half, though, and you and Rob can enjoy it when he gets home. I’m sure he’ll be tired and hungry.’

  She was just packaging up the other food (of which we’d eaten less than half) and trying to persuade us to keep it, when Alan’s phone rang.